Page 49 of Windlass (Seal Cove #3)

Croquet, it turned out, was bloodthirsty.

Stevie leaned on her mallet and wiped sweat from her forehead, not from physical exertion, but from the psychological pressure of trying to outthink the former friends who had now consolidated themselves into two categories: karaoke sadists, aka the enemy, and Morgan.

The muscles in Morgan’s jaw twitched in solidarity.

Stormy—a thousand curses on her and her progeny—did not help by supplying them with refreshing spritzers, which Stevie was pretty sure were unevenly mixed to favor the competition.

She’d turned down the last two and Stormy had smiled nefariously, which was obviously evidence.

“You’re up.” Lilian caught Stevie’s eye.

She considered her position. Lilian had explained the rules using too many words.

What Stevie knew was that she needed to get her ball—the green and yellow one—through the hoops and in order and in the right direction, and could also delightfully knock other people’s balls out of the way.

Like pool, but with more standing around, and lumps on the green.

So many lumps. She would personally have a word with the resident vole population.

Most of their balls lay in a pack. Stormy was ahead, Stevie behind, and Morgan, her last hope, not far behind Stormy. Stevie cared more at this point about enabling Morgan’s win than any real hope of her own victory.

Angie’s ball, which was all red, seemed closest. She aimed, swung, and missed Angie’s ball entirely, colliding into Morgan’s—and pushing her through the next hoop.

“Thank you ,” said Morgan.

“Make my sacrifice count,” she replied.

Angie, up next, did something tricky with her ball that knocked Stevie’s several yards away from anything remotely resembling a wicket.

“You—”

“Me?” Angie feigned surprise but did not quite meet Stevie’s eyes. She’d been like that the whole game: a little shy almost, smiling at Stevie in a way she couldn’t place and ducking her gaze.

“Yes, you . How dare you.”

“Well, see, I held the mallet like this—” She bent over unnecessarily suggestively, which, even though it was clearly a joke, had the effects Angie had no doubt intended.

“Collusion.”

“No worse than you. Hey—!”

Stormy’s next shot sent Angie’s ball even farther away than Stevie’s. Stevie, who prided herself on sportsmanship, cackled.

“How does it feel?” she asked Angie as they both wandered over to their balls, which were closer to each other’s than to anyone else’s.

“Like I’ve been betrayed.” Angie cut her eyes at Stormy. “That was totally intentional.”

“Like your shot wasn’t?” Stevie paused in the shade of a large pine.

“Well, yes.” Angie abandoned her ball to come stand by Stevie and watch the others. Their hips brushed. Stevie’s hand dropped to Angie’s waist before she could catch herself, but when she went to pull her hand away, Angie caught it. “Also, they know.”

“They know?”

“About us.”

Her chest expanded, then shrank, undergoing several pressure changes at once. She searched Angie’s face. She didn’t seem upset. If anything, she seemed calm even if she still struggled to hold Stevie’s eye.

Was that why she was struggling to hold eye contact? Was this the moment where Angie pulled away from her? It was too unbearable to contemplate. Her only course of action was to pretend she wasn’t breaking up inside like the Antarctic ice shelves.

“And, um, how do we feel about that?” Stevie asked.

“Like maybe I wasn’t as quiet as I thought I was last night.” Angie dug her thumbnail into Stevie’s palm as she spoke, dragging it in a slow sensuous circle and leaning into Stevie as she did so. “But okay, I think. Last night was worth it.”

Lust, that traitorous bitch, hit Stevie hard at the memory of the sounds Angie had muffled the night before, and her hand tightened on Angie’s. Before she could stop herself in the interest of treating the situation delicately, she murmured, “You were so fucking hot.”

Angie’s lips quirked. “Stormy left that part out.”

Ah.

“I mean, yes, I feel bad that Stormy heard us, ew for her, but god, Ange . . .”

“Oh?” Angie glanced at her, the slight curve of her lips widening into a wicked smile that did more for Stevie than even the memory of the night before. “Say more.”

This woman would be the death of her. She tried and failed to focus on the important conversation Angie had successfully derailed. It seemed unlikely Angie would be coming on to her like this if she was about to run, but then again, she could be planning to put the “hit” into hit and run.

“Are you teasing me right now?” Stevie asked, fear warring with desire.

“You tell me. Is it working?”

Stevie opened her mouth to lie, briefly determined to haul the conversation back as Angie’s eyes dropped to her mouth. Angie bit her own lower lip, and the indentation of teeth in that flushed, lush skin nudged the lie off a cliff.

“Yes.” She sounded hoarse even to her own ears.

She might have been able to resist some of Angie’s moves, but not that one.

Not the promise, held just out of reach, of her mouth.

If Angie kissed her, would it be goodbye?

Or would it mean something more? Her hand left Angie’s and trailed up her back and over her hot skin, exposed by the cut of the sundress, feeling the sheen of sweat and the way Angie trembled beneath her touch.

She was learning Angie’s body, and she trailed her nails lightly over the small of Angie’s back in erratic circles.

Angie’s eyes slammed shut with a thoroughly gratifying gasp.

Gloating, Stevie asked, “How does karma feel?”

“Like you have no idea how wet you just made me.”

“Jesus Christ, Angie.” Stevie sunk heavily to the grass, hand sliding down Angie’s leg for support, and then lay back to stare at the sky.

Croquet could suck it. The world shimmered in time to her pulse, which might never be normal again.

Her body screamed at her to pull Angie down beside her, but they were in public, and she didn’t want to explain a charge of public fornication at her next job interview whenever that might be.

Besides, from here she could shamelessly see up Angie’s dress to the curve of her ass.

Also, the revelation they’d been rumbled. Also, that. She needed to address that.

But Angie wasn’t running. She wasn’t acting like a woman about to break things off or scale things back, nor was she bothering to hide from their friends. Stevie had no fucking clue what it meant.

Angie sank down beside her and rolled to face her. Dappled shade lit her face with gold-green light. “Hi.”

“Hi,” said Stevie, absolutely incoherent with conflicting internal agendas: talk or tumble forever down the abyss of Angie’s pupils. She knew which she’d prefer.

“You’re really pretty.”

The compliment startled her. She was used to people talking about the attractiveness of her friends, but rarely were such comments levied at her. “Uh, me?”

“No, your mom.” Angie poked her side. Playfulness was another good sign. “Yes, you.”

“You are trying to kill me.”

“Maybe.”

“What did I ever do to you?” asked Stevie.

Angie leaned forward until she could whisper in her ear, “Well, there was that thing you did with your teeth last night . . .”

Stevie’s body liquefied. “Unless you want me to do it again right now—”

Angie, merciless, continued. “And then there was the way you looked right before I made you come for the third time . . .”

“Angie, seriously, I’m dying.”

Angie, relentless, licked her ear as she spoke, “And the way you made me scream your name into the pillow. I’ve told you, haven’t I, how the only way I’ve been able to get off for the last few years is by saying your name in my head? Even when I’m with other people?”

Angie had not mentioned this. The electrical circuits in Stevie’s brain sparked and shorted.

The feel of Angie’s body beneath her, supple, soft, and devastatingly warm; the way Angie’s laughter rang through them both; the promise of her eyes, with their curling lashes and tumultuous depths: Stevie felt each like a blow. This woman was everything she’d ever wanted.

“So I didn’t mention it?” Angie asked sweetly, her attempt at innocence halfhearted at best, and entirely coy.

Angie needed to say her name. She wouldn’t lie about that. There was no reason for it. Lana might have had Angie’s body in ways that made Stevie wonder how she’d look in an orange jumpsuit, but Stevie had Angie’s heart.

Years Angie had said. She’d wanted Stevie for years .

She ran out of words. She wanted, needed , to kiss her.

Angie knew it, too. Her lips were flushed a deeper red than Stevie had seen in daylight, unmade-up and perfect, and her body begged Stevie with every subtle movement.

Stevie made what might have been a growl or a groan or something embarrassingly like please if a body could ask it without speaking.

“Tonight,” Stevie managed at last.

“What about it?”

Sex was Angie’s drug, which she took for both the high and the anesthetic.

“Angie.” She managed to muster one last milliliter of self-control. “Do we need to talk about this? Because I’m trying to be good.”

“I’m okay,” Angie said quietly after a short huff of frustration. “It’s a lot, you know?”

Stevie didn’t know, not really, but the question had mostly been rhetorical. “Too much?”

“I don’t think so.”

Think so wasn’t comforting.

“Did they care?” she asked.

“They had opinions,” said Angie, confirming Stevie’s fears. “Mostly about whether or not I’m a coward.”

Stevie squeezed their linked hands. “You’re one of the bravest people I know, stupid.”

Angie turned her head to the side. Her profile radiated vulnerability.

“I mean it.”

The grass brought out the green in Angie’s hazel eyes. Stevie’s heart beat like a drum.

Without meeting Stevie’s eyes, Angie said, “I’m trying.”

“I know.” And she did—more than Angie thought, Stevie guessed, because Angie didn’t know how much she communicated without words.

“Just . . .” Stevie trailed off as she searched for more adequate words. She found none. “Just stay, Ange. Try to stay.”

Angie’s nod was minute, but it was there.

Gently, so gently she didn’t realize what was happening at first, Angie’s teeth closed over Stevie’s lower lip. She froze. Each sensation, acute to the point of pain, radiated through her body. It was bliss. It was penitentiary. It tasted terrifyingly like home.

Stevie kissed her. Not fully—merely a desperate sweep of her mouth over Angie’s before she flung herself away and onto her back, breathing like she’d run a race. Angie’s hand found hers in the grass and clutched it.

The sound of clapping strengthened now that Angie wasn’t overpowering all her senses. She raised her head and saw their friends leaning on their mallets, gazing at them with affection as they gave Stevie and Angie a round of applause.

“About damn time,” Stormy shouted.

Stevie sought out Morgan’s eyes. Morgan stood with her arm around Emilia’s waist, faint worry in her smile, but not as much as Stevie expected. Ivy, on the other hand, smiled broadly. Stevie flipped them all off and stood, trying to ignore the burning between her thighs and the ache in her chest.

More than that, though, was the memory of Angie’s mouth beneath hers and the tiny nod.